Teaching Mr Black
by Ange de Socrates
Summary: Hermione and Harry teach Padfoot some manners. PostOrder of the Phoenix, Alternate Universe. Some OOTP spoilers. REVISED FOR READABILITY 3/17/08
1. A Lesson Well Taught

_**Teaching Mr. Black**_

_By Ange de Socrates_

**Disclaimer: Don't own it. All of it belongs to J.K. Rowling except the plot.**

WARNING: THIS STORY CONTAINS ADULT LANGUAGE AND SOME PG-13 MATERIAL, NOT TO MENTION A GREAT DEAL OF SEXUAL INNUENDO. DO NOT READ IF YOU FIND SUCH MATERIAL TO BE OFFENSIVE.

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"Sirius Black! You are the biggest jerk on the face of the earth! How could you do this to me? How could you do this to _us?_ What were you thinking!"

"I…I…"

"Stop! I'm tired of your excuses! GET OUT!"

Hermione sighed. She tapped her quill on the desk, then hurriedly wiped up the ink blots she had so carelessly deposited. In retrospect, staying with Harry over the summer might not have been her best idea as yet. She watched as Sirius stormed down the steps in front of his latest houseguest and began to open the door. He paused as the woman behind him took the steps two at a time and passed out the front door, then shut it quickly behind her. He turned back to Harry and Hermione, who were sitting at the spacious kitchen table, staring wide-eyed, and gave them a smile.

"So, who's up for lunch?"

That night, Hermione sat on her bed, a fluffy pillow clutched tight against her chest. Harry and Sirius had given her, in her opinion, the best room in the large house. It was decorated in different hues of blue. There was a cherry, queen sized four-poster bed with a matching armoire and nightstand. French doors at the end of the third-story room led to a balcony with an incredible view of the gardens.

It was great that Sirius had finally moved out of Grimmauld Place and into a house that was cheerier and brighter, not to mention much more spacious. At least the old house hadn't gone to waste – Sirius had donated it to the Order as their official centre of operations.

"I wonder what they were arguing about," she pondered aloud. "That's the third woman in three weeks. He must hold some sort of record." Hermione hopped off the bed and pulled some pajamas out of her suitcase, heading toward her spacious bathroom to get ready for bed.

The lavatory was furnished completely in dark marble aside from the porcelain toilet, sink, and shower. She stripped off her clothes and started the shower, then stepped carefully in and scrubbed her hair under the steamy jets.

Closing her eyes, Hermione let her mind wander in a rare moment of mental laziness. Showers were one of the rare times in the day during which she allowed her brain to cease its laboring and think on what it pleased. Alarmingly, however, her daydreams of late involved a man whom Hermione saw as the antithesis of the perfect lover, leading her to conclude that these occasional lapses into fancy were rather unbeneficial to her mental health. Even more alarmingly, she couldn't seem to stop them.

Ten minutes later, Hermione emerged fresh and rosy from her hot shower, gathered her hair up into a towel, and dried herself. She pulled on her pajamas and opened the door into her bedroom. She couldn't stop a small squeak at the sight of Harry sitting on her bed.

"Harry, what are you doing here?" Hermione asked, trying to slow down her heart. "Merlin, you're lucky I change in the loo instead of walking out here starkers."

"I just wanted to talk. You know, about…things."

"You mean Sirius and his latest ex?"

"Yeah, something along those lines."

"Well, I really don't know what there is to say," she said, pulling a brush through her locks. "He must have done something absolutely at odds with common sense again. Let's see. Did he not call her after a one-night stand? Did he make her pick up the tab at the restaurant?"

Harry grinned. "You know Sirius pretty well, don't you?"

"Better than you'd think. I've only been here for three weeks, and I've already seen three women dump him. Well, actually, I suppose there would have to have been a proper relationship and commitment in the first place to warrant the use of the term 'dump'."

"I wish there was something we could do."

Hermione sighed. "I don't know what, Harry. It seems he either has a problem with commitment, or he just doesn't know how to treat a woman."

"I bet someone could teach him." Harry directed a very purposeful wink at his oblivious friend.

Hermione laughed. "You know he'd never go to a class to learn. What do you want to do? Teach him step-by-step the rules of etiquette yourself?"

"Glad you're catching on."

Hermione stared at him cynically, unblinking. "There's no possible way."

"Ouch, Hermione. I mean, I know he's pretty awful, but he's not completely hopeless."

"I honestly don't think he'd be willing to learn." Hermione fought back unpleasant memories of past loves. "Womanizers tend not to quit their ways because they're so effective at getting the one thing they're after."

"But it's worth a shot," Harry declared, a touch of his characteristic heroism in his voice. "Come on, Hermione, please? You and me, we can do this!"

"'You and I,' Harry. And no!"

"Please?" Harry looked at her with wide, tear-filled eyes, his lip quivering. Hermione laughed, knowing she wouldn't win this battle, and threw a pillow at him.

"Fine, my goodness, I'll do it. But _you_ have to ask him."

"All right." Harry grinned triumphantly. "I'll tell you in the morning what he says."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "If you're really going to make me go through with this, then I need to get my beauty sleep, or else I'll be tearing off heads rather than teaching tangos."

Harry jumped off the bed and gave Hermione a hug, then left the young woman to her plans, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Hermione ran a hand through her hair. "Bushy as ever," she said to her reflection in the mirror above the nightstand.

"You should really do something with that, you know," the reflection replied, examining its nails.

"Too much trouble," Hermione told it. "I don't have time with all of my studies. I'm to graduate next year, you know."

"It really wouldn't take much to straighten it out. All you need…"

"Ah, just stop!" The reflection shrugged and became silent once more. Hermione tried to brush her hair again, but even while wet, it just didn't care to be untangled. She threw the brush back onto the nightstand and crawled under the covers, pushing away troublesome thoughts of her prospective pupil before falling into a light sleep.

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Hermione awoke the next morning to the faint sound of music suitable for a waltz. She stretched lazily and yawned, then looked at the clock. 6:30 a.m. She crawled out of bed and drew her robe 

around her, then padded downstairs only to find Harry and Sirius in the kitchen, dancing. Hermione couldn't help but laugh. Harry was obviously playing the role of the girl, and Sirius was clumsily stepping around, squeezing Harry's waist so tightly that his godson would probably have a bruise a few hours later.

Hermione stood in the doorway unnoticed for a few more moments before whistling. Harry and Sirius broke apart hurriedly and grunted in a way that clearly proclaimed the return of their temporarily absent masculinity.

"Morning, Hermione," Harry greeted, flushed. "He said yes."

"So it would seem." Hermione raised an eyebrow. "It's a bit difficult for a man to play the woman, you know."

"We sort of figured that out," Sirius told her grumpily.

"If you'll wait a minute, I'll go get dressed, and then we can figure out what we'll start with. Harry, you just do the man's part and have Sirius mirror your steps." Hermione, still half-asleep, left the two in the kitchen doing their dilapidated dance. She went upstairs to her room and got out a pair of shorts and an old tee-shirt, and then bounded down the steps again.

The song had ended, so Harry and Sirius were sitting awkwardly at the kitchen table, obviously without a clue as to what they should do next, so Hermione took charge and instigated the lesson.

"Right. Well, we should probably work on table manners first," she told them. "Harry, go get a placemat, plates, glasses, and silverware. All of it." Sirius looked quite nervous as Harry began going through the cupboards, pulling out dishes that he didn't even know he owned. Harry came back, everything gathered in his arms, and set it carefully on the table.

"Now, Sirius, we're going to teach you place settings. First goes the placemat." She laid the placemat in front of him, and then picked up the plate. "Second is the main plate for your entrée. It goes in the centre of the placemat." She put it in the correct spot, and Sirius nodded.

"This is pretty easy," he remarked jovially.

"It gets harder," Harry told him. Sirius winced and continued to watch Hermione.

"After that is the side dish, which is for bread and… and side dishes," Hermione told him for lack of a better term. "That one goes on the left of the plate. The glass goes on the upper right, and the coffee mug goes next to that, on the right. It's actually pretty easy to remember: 'Liquids on the right, solids on the left.' That's how my etiquette teacher taught us." She picked up the napkin. "This goes on the left, with the edge of the plate overlapping it slightly. The forks go on top of it. The forks go in order from largest to smallest, right to left. On the right of the plate, closest to it, is the knife. Never have the blade facing outward; it's a sign of hostility. On the 

right of the knife go the spoons, same as the forks, except reversed. Largest to smallest, left to right. Got it?"

Sirius stared at her blankly, obviously not used to any sort of oral dialogue that lasted for more than a few seconds.

"Try it." Hermione took everything off and waited for Sirius to begin. He grunted as he put each dish down, and then attempted the silverware.

"Here?"

"No."

"Here?"

"No."

"Here?"

"No! There!"

A few more practice runs, and the old boy had it down. Hermione looked at him, pleased. "Good. On to manners."

"Manners?"

"Yes, manners. Just the basic ones, mind you – we've not got the time for a full-blown course. Now, you never eat with your hands, unless you're eating bread. Also, when you're with a lady, you always pay, unless she offers to pay for her half. She might even offer to pay for all of it, but insist that you pay for it. We love when men do that. Oh, and never slurp or gulp your drink or soup. That's terribly rude."

"In some cultures, it's a sign of appreciation," Sirius quipped, laughing heartily and looking to Harry for support. Harry, however, knew better than to laugh when Hermione was sending his godfather a look that would have boiled liquid nitrogen. Sirius promptly shut his mouth.

"Next are conversation topics. Don't bring up money, and remember – politics kills the party. And no crude bar jokes," Hermione added pointedly. "Just stick to things like current events, plays, films, areas of common interest, et cetera."

"Sounds right boring," he muttered. Hermione glared. "I mean, it sounds like a fine, enjoyable evening. Am I done now?"

"Not even close."

"Damn."

"And watch the language around a first date."

Hermione looked at the clock. It was seven thirty. "But I guess we should take a break for breakfast. Why don't you set the table?"

Sirius looked put off. "I can try…"

Ten minutes later, the three were sitting at a successfully set table eating pancakes. Throughout the course of the meal, Hermione or Harry gently but firmly reminded Sirius that he was not a dog at the moment and should not eat like one. They did the dishes, and Hermione decided that it was time for a wardrobe check.

"Turn around for me."

Sirius whirled around like a tornado. "Well?"

Hermione blinked. "Sirius, am I wearing ruby red slippers?"

"No…"

"Then try turning a bit more slowly so I don't end up in bloody Oz!"

Sirius slowed down, and Hermione observed him carefully. "I guess your clothes could do with a bit of work."

"What's wrong with them?" he said indignantly.

Hermione snorted. "Walk to the mirror and take a good look at yourself." He examined his paint-stained jeans, his white, hole-filled undershirt, and torn work boots.

"And this is what you wear every day?"

"Uh huh."

"You, my good sir, can be classified as a bum, maybe a hobo at best."

"What? I resent that, thank you very much!"

"More like 'represent'! You're a mess, in my opinion."

"The ladies seem to like it."

"What's the longest you've held onto a lady?"

Harry chuckled, and Sirius gave her an amused look. "That was cold."

"I never said I'd be nice." Hermione looked him up and down once more. "Harry, why don't you take him shopping? I'll get some housework done or something. Take him to the usuals."

"Sure, no problem. Come on, Sirius." Harry dragged Sirius outside to the car, and they sped off. Hermione looked around the kitchen, determined that it was clean, and went in search of other rooms to be tidied up.

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It was late that night when Sirius and Harry finally returned. They both held two bags in each hand.

"You two went all out, didn't you?"

"We certainly did!" Harry exclaimed. "Once he got into Harrods, he just couldn't stop."

Sirius set his bags down on the kitchen table. "I honestly had no idea that shopping could be fun."

Hermione smirked. "Aren't you glad you're doing this now?"

"I guess it can't hurt," Sirius replied with a boyish grin that made Hermione's stomach ache rather pleasantly.

Before she could think on it much longer, the three went their separate ways to bed. Hermione was very anxious about what Harry had bought Sirius. Sure, he was a good dresser, but what if he had taken him to some dumpy old store and bought him polyester pants and – Merlin forbid – Hawaiian shirts? Hermione contemplated the possible predicaments as she showered, and then finally relaxed enough to fall asleep.

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At six o'clock the next morning, Hermione's internal alarm clock went off, and she stumbled out of bed. She justified the extra time she spent on her appearance that morning as preparation for a future in the public eye at the Ministry of Magic.

Hermione made her way to the kitchen and scanned the headlines of the _Prophet_. She didn't have to wait long until Harry pattered into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes.

"Morning," he said groggily.

"Good morning," Hermione chirped, ready for another day of her favorite thing in the world – learning. They discussed their next course of action until Sirius came down.

"Are you ready for your next lessons?" Harry asked him.

"We're still doing that?" Sirius mumbled, searching the room desperately for coffee.

"Of course, silly!" Hermione laughed. "I think you'll have fun with this part. Dancing."

"All right! That's the one thing I'm decent at!"

"Ballroom dancing."

"Oh."

"We'll start with the waltz, which is pretty basic. Harry, if you would," Hermione requested, leaving Sirius no time to refuse the lesson.

"Certainly." Harry walked into the adjoining living room and strode over to the stereo, popping a CD into the player. Within moments, the lively Viennese waltz was playing loudly.

"Harry and I will demonstrate it for you, and then you can try it with me. Okay?"

"Sure."

Harry and Hermione got into their stance and began the steps. "See how Harry has his hand on my waist, and not on my rear?"

Sirius grinned. "Damn."

Hermione glared at him, slightly disgusted but also amused. "And our other hands are a bit off to the side, but not so far that we stab other dancers in the backs."

"Got it."

"Watch the steps closely."

"All right."

Harry and Hermione danced for a minute or so, and then it was Sirius' turn. Harry went over to the stereo and started the song over again. Sirius walked to where Hermione was standing and began to put his left hand far too low on her body.

"Um, Sirius?"

"Hmm?"

"You're supposed to use your right hand on the waist or the small of the back, not on my ass."

Harry groaned loudly and slapped his hand over his eyes.

"Oh, sorry." He switched hands and moved it up a little higher, not looking the least bit remorseful.

"Good. Don't look at your feet; look into my eyes." Hermione was suddenly blinded by the brilliance of two beautiful brown eyes, so dark that they were almost black. She blinked a couple 

times, and then concentrated on the dance. "One two three, one two three, one two three," she repeated, emphasising the 'one'.

A few minutes (and hand positioning adjustments) later, the song ended, and Hermione broke away quickly.

"Well, how did I do?" Sirius asked eagerly.

"Excellent," Hermione told him, numb.

"Can we try another dance? That was actually – dare I say? – fun."

"Sure," Hermione said mindlessly. She couldn't seem to hold eye contact with her dance partner for more than a few seconds at a time. "Harry, could you start a cha-cha?"

"Got it." Harry started up the music, and Hermione began reciting facts as if she were a human encyclopedia of dance – it was the only way she knew to put a wall between herself and the captivating man before her. After she and Harry had demonstrated, Sirius walked over and got into the right position.

"Ouch! Watch your feet!" Hermione snapped a bit more harshly than she should have.

"Sorry; this one's more upbeat than the waltz."

"I'd noticed."

Sirius smiled knowingly. "Snarky, aren't we?"

"No, I just like to do the dance properly, thank you very much." The dance soon ended, and Hermione parted from Sirius' arms again. "That was good. Really good. Why don't we continue tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow? But it's only eight – we have plenty of time left," Harry pointed out.

"Well, I – er – need to run into town and get some shopping done," Hermione managed to stammer.

"Oh, okay." Sirius looked as if he'd had a bucket of cold water thrown on him. "We'll see you later, then."

"Uh huh. Bye guys."

Hermione grabbed her purse and keys, and then left the house at a rapid pace. She jumped over the door and into her vintage Mustang. She jammed the keys into the ignition, revved the engine, and sped down the driveway and towards town. Sirius and Harry watched her leave from the living room window, laughing at her conduct.

"You'd think we have parasites crawling on us," Sirius remarked, knowing very well what the young woman wanted crawling on her.

"That's Hermione for you. She's always acting crazy. Come on, I'll teach you the basics of piano."

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Hermione parked a few blocks from Harrods and walked back over to the shopping mecca. She found her way to a coffee shop, ordered a cappuccino, and sat down at a table, watching the few shoppers wandering around.

_What the hell got into you, Granger? Everyone's got a set of eyes, you know – not just Sirius Black._

_I don't know! I looked into them and got lost, I suppose._

_Typical romantic! You seem to expect some handsome man to meet you at the door with a rose in hand, ready to sweep you off your feet! Open doors for you, hold your hand, dance, cook, get to know you before jumping into bed with you…_

_That only happened once, and it was a complete misjudgment on my part! The other time I did get to know the guy, and it was perfectly sweet._

_So, who was the mistake? Ron or Harry?_

_Ron, of course! He was a better friend than a lover. You know that._

_Yeah, Harry was pretty good…_

_Shut up! You have no right to bring that up!_

_I'm your mind, you dolt._

"Stupid hormones," Hermione muttered out loud. She finished her drink and stood, drifting from store to store in search of something to wear.

At last, a dress seemed to pop out that would never have struck her as wearable before. It was the goddess of all little black dresses, and Hermione stood at the shop window, gawking at it.

_That would be a pretty sexy number to wear for…no! Get away!_ Hermione turned away from the window and left as fast as her feet would take her. She settled for buying some flutter- and cap-sleeved blouses and a slim-cut pair of jeans at a store just down the hall.

Hermione walked back to her car, satisfied with her purchases. She had decided that her reaction to Sirius was to be completely blamed on her raging teenage hormones and thought nothing more 

of it. She drove calmly and slowly down the road back to Sirius' house, certain that she could control herself better around Sirius in the future.

It was seven o'clock when Hermione returned. The boys were nowhere to be found. She shrugged in indifference and traipsed up to her room, setting her bags down on the floor, and then took her habitual shower.

As she lay in bed reading a news magazine, she thought about the events of the past few years. Ever since her parents had been killed in the times preceding the final battle, Hermione had been determined not to get close to anyone. She maintained her independence with great pride and had nearly declined Harry's invitation to spend the summer with him and Sirius. She had grudgingly packed up her belongings and spent a half hour in the driveway before driving away from her recently-inherited house. As Crookshanks was sadly no longer with her, she didn't need anyone to pet sit.

Hermione put her magazine down, turned off the light, and rolled onto her side. Crookshanks had been killed in a fierce battle with Nagini. Both faithful pets died in that final fight. Hermione's parents were on a private plane on their way to a vacation in Malta after Hermione's fifth year when a few Death Eaters had hijacked the aircraft. The kamikazes brought the plane down in the middle of the Atlantic. Hermione had cried for three days straight, and the night of that third day was when Hermione had made the mistake of sleeping with Ron, who had tried everything he could to comfort her. Their friendship quickly subsided, and it wasn't until the final battle later that summer that they forged a new bond.

In Hermione's sixth year, she and Harry had begun dating, and it was near the end of that year that they had made a mutual decision about sex. They had split soon after, agreeing that they worked best as friends. Hermione was glad that they were able to stay friends without it being uncomfortable.

'I need a vacation,' Hermione thought, closing her eyes.

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The next morning, Harry came into Hermione's room and jumped under the covers with her.

"Wake up, Hermione," he whispered in her ear. Hermione rolled over on her side, her eyes still closed, and leaned in closer to Harry.

"I'm awake," she whispered back. "And if it's not past six o'clock, you're going to regret that you woke me."

"It's six fifteen."

"Good."

"Get up!"

Hermione opened her eyes and flicked Harry's ear with her fingers. "I'm getting up!"

"Ouch!"

Harry got out of her bed and helped her make it up, both in a sleepy silence. He waited for Hermione to change clothes and then led her down to the kitchen.

"Where were you last night?"

"Sirius and I went to dinner at about six, and we got home around eight. I think you were already asleep."

"I got to bed a bit early – all that dancing and shopping wore me out." She began making a pot of coffee. "Shall we try cooking today?"

"I don't see why not. I mean, what could possibly go wrong?"

A lot of things could go wrong, as was amply demonstrated that afternoon. Sirius managed to burn three pancakes, set a piece of chicken on fire, and explode two baked potatoes. Not to mention the three blackened Pop Tarts ("How the bloody hell do you burn a Pop Tart? You have to be the worst cook I've ever seen!") To give him some credit, however, he did make a perfect rice casserole and pan of lasagna.

As they sat at the table eating their casserole and lasagna in their scorched clothes, Hermione and Harry were secretly pleased that Sirius' conversation topics were relatively far from vulgar or racy. He stuck to current events, though he did once wander into politics. No one really minded, though, as it was all about the former Minister, Fudge, who had switched to Voldemort's side before the war was over.

"In my opinion, he was a real bastard," Sirius commented, picking a piece of exploded potato off of his shirt. Hermione leaned over and brushed some of the peel out of his hair.

"I agree. His views on foreign policies were completely irrational." Hermione continued picking at a rather stubborn piece of peel.

"Most certainly! Can you believe the way he cooperated with the Asian Ministry after the Death Eater sightings by Muggles?"

"'Cooperated'? There wasn't a semblance of cooperation! He just shrugged them off and told them to deal with it, because it was their fault in the first place!"

"Unless you count that he sent an Auror over to help alter the memories of some of those Muggles."

"I suppose, but he could have spared more than one Auror. It's not like we were being overrun with Death Eaters at the moment."

"You're right."

The conversation continued on for a bit before Harry jumped in and started talking about the latest advance in the Wolfsbane potion. Apparently, Severus Snape and his fiancée, Lara Torres, both Potion Masters, had developed a new potion that relieved all pain from the transformations. Remus Lupin, of course, had been their guinea pig.

"I still can't believe that Snape is getting married," Harry mused.

"You'd never think he was capable of love by the way he took points off of us," Hermione added. "You know, Lara only graduated this past year. One year ahead of us."

"Don't know how the poor girl can stand him," Sirius growled. Hermione and Harry decided it was due time to move on to a different subject.

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Later in the afternoon, Hermione and Sirius did another session of dance lessons. This time, they tackled the tango. After several rather painful steps on her feet, Sirius had mastered the basics of the dance. A few more songs later, and he had finally relaxed and gotten into the beat. Hermione closed her eyes and went limp in Sirius' arms.

"I'll be right back guys," Harry called to them from his position at the stereo. "I'm going to run to the store and pick up some groceries. We're out of baking potatoes."

Sirius and Hermione laughed but didn't pause the dance. They heard Harry leave a few moments later, the engine roaring to life in the driveway. The rumbling grew softer and softer before completely fading out. Hermione didn't seem to realize their solitude and concentrated completely on the dance.

"All right, you're doing great. You just need to loosen up a bit; you're too tense."

"Sorry, my back's been paining me lately."

Hermione frowned, concerned. "Here, let me rub it for you."

Sirius sat down on the couch, and Hermione walked around to the back of it. She gingerly placed her hands on Sirius' back and began rubbing it, then quickly realized that her suggestion was a stupid one indeed. The hormones were back, and they were putting up one hell of a fight.

"Ah, that feels wonderful. A little harder…left…up…there!"

Hermione rubbed harder on the spot, kneading it with her knuckles. Sirius slouched forward and closed his eyes. Hermione couldn't stand the silence.

"So, why did you choose this house?"

Sirius never opened his eyes. "My dad loved this place. He wanted to buy it, but my mum talked him out of it. They died a few years later."

"I can completely relate. My mum wanted this gorgeous Victorian, but my dad refused. Then the plane got hijacked and…" Hermione stopped, kneading into Sirius' lower back.

Sirius sat up a little more, leaning into Hermione's hands. She continued rubbing his back for a few more minutes until Sirius started to hunch down. "You're dozing off, you know."

"Ah, it just feels so bloody amazing."

Hermione chose that moment to cease rubbing, looking around for an excuse for the cessation. "I should turn the music off."

"If you must."

She walked over to the stereo and pressed the power button. Then, she walked back to the couch and sat down a safe distance away from Sirius. "So, do you think you're ready to do a trial run of your skills?"

"Sure." Sirius furrowed his brow a pit. "What do you mean?"

Hermione couldn't believe what she was about to say. "Let's have a practice 'date,' if you will. Dinner, dancing, the whole nine yards."

"Sounds fun. When?"

"Day after tomorrow? To give you some time to brush up on everything, of course."

Sirius smiled warmly. "All right. It's a date, then."

"Yes."

Hermione left Sirius to fall asleep on the couch. She went up to her room and pulled out her schoolbooks, attempting to distract herself from the horrendous mistake she had just made. This would be her last year at Hogwarts, and she intended to make it the best one yet.

She began reading her new Advanced Transfiguration course book, but soon had to set it down. She couldn't concentrate at all on the words that flowed in front of her, no matter how much the pictures of Transfiguring witches and wizards embedded within waved and whistled for her attention.

"What in the world am I going to wear?" Hermione asked herself. She suddenly remembered that her mirror had been more than willing to help. She walked over and stood in front of it. "All right, I'll take your advice."

The mirror sprang to life. "Splendid!" her reflection exclaimed. "You've finally decided that you want to impress the young gentleman?"

Hermione started to shake her head, but remembered the way she felt while she danced with him. How he had melted under her massaging touch. How he only fell for stunners, not bookworms. "Yes, I do."

"Marvelous. Okay, here's what you need to do. Your hair is first on our list…"

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The next morning, Hermione woke up at five and got dressed. She snuck down the steps, careful not to wake the sleeping boys, and grabbed a granola bar to eat in the car. She put the car in neutral and rolled silently down the drive before firing up the engine, and then sped off toward London.

When Harrods opened, Hermione walked straight over to 'The Little Black Dress'. She took a deep breath, entered the store, and asked the saleswoman to see the dress in the display in a size six.

Hermione took it into the fitting room and stripped off her clothes. She tugged the dress on and turned around to face the mirror. She nearly had the breath knocked out of her.

The dress revealed a daring amount of cleavage with its plunging neckline. The band beneath her bust emphasized her tiny waist, and the way it fit her round hips almost made her blush. Not to mention the hem that stopped far above her knees…

"Perfect," she whispered, going against all she had ever thought about clothing. She took the dress off and shelled out the most money she had ever spent on a single article of clothing – but for a very good cause.

Hermione left Harrods that day with three bags: one for the LBD and a new pair of black stilettos, another for her makeup and hairstyling tools, and the third for her rather risqué accessories.

It was around five o'clock that night when Hermione pulled into the driveway. She had to slam on her brakes to keep from ramming an unfamiliar car that was parked in her spot. She frowned, but brought her bags up to her room before going down to the kitchen.

Harry was standing in the hallway right outside the kitchen when Hermione came down. He turned to her and placed his finger to his lips. Hermione remained silent and listened carefully, managing to sneak a peek inside.

Sirius was sitting at the table with a blond-haired, blue-eyed wonder of a woman. She was rather tall with long, lean legs, and was very thin. Her laugh wasn't deep, but it wasn't high-pitched. Sirius seemed to be having a ball.

"He went into London today, an hour or so after you left, and he brought this thing home," Harry whispered. "She's not that smart, but she certainly isn't one of the dumb ones that he always brings back. Personally, I don't like her, but he seems to take to her."

Hermione nodded, vehemently regretting that she had bothered to get all of those new things at Harrods. Sirius wouldn't be spending much time with her after all.

"What the hell?" Hermione exclaimed softly enough so that only she could hear. He was wearing one of his new outfits, even after he had said that he was going to show her and Harry first. She snorted and turned on her heel, then marched up the stairs to her room.

Inside, Hermione shut the door and threw herself onto her bed. "The nerve of him!" she mumbled. "Ass."

_Jealous much?_ asked a voice in her head.

_I am _not_. It's just very insensitive of him._

_You're terribly upset; you can't lie to me! I know you! I AM you! You know he looked sexy in those khakis and that white linen._

_Shut up._

_You really care about him, don't you?_ a smaller, gentler voice spoke up.

Hermione sighed, and gave a thoughtful half-smile. _I might…NO! I don't!_

_You know you do. Don't try to hide it from yourself. Trust your heart._

"My heart is telling me that he's an ass, and there's nothing I can do about it," Hermione said out loud. "So shut up!"

"Cripes, sorry, I only wanted to know if I could come in."

"Harry!" Hermione bounded over to the door and opened it. "Sorry, I was talking to myself."

"I see. Can I come in?"

"Sure."

Hermione held the door open while Harry entered, then shut and locked it. Harry took a seat on her bed and patted the space beside him. Hermione grinned and sat next to him.

"You seemed pretty upset about that woman."

Hermione's smile faded and she shook her head. "No, I was just surprised. I mean, we've just barely finished teaching him these things, and he brings home the first unattached woman he sees."

"Actually, she's attached."

"What?"

"I said she's attached. You didn't hear the yelling?" Hermione shook her head, so Harry continued. "She just told Padfoot she was married, and he kicked her out."

"Oh, good!"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Good?"

"Um, I mean, it's good that she told him," she faltered. "That would have been terrible if he'd had an affair with her."

"Hermione, is there something you're not telling me?" Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Nope, nothing."

"Hermione…"

"What?"

"I know when you're lying. And I also know a spot on your back that when someone rubs it, you…"

"Stop! I'll tell!" Hermione drew in her breath. "I guess I was sort of…jealous."

"Oh…I get it." Harry grinned. "You like him!"

"Harry!"

"You do! I knew it! You've been acting weird ever since we started doing these lessons for him. And I have one thing to say to you." He watched as she braced herself for whatever blow he was about to inflict on her. "Go for it."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Excuse me?"

"Go for it!"

"That doesn't creep you out at all? I mean, we did, after all, you know…"

"Yeah, that's kind of gross, but I'll try not to think about it."

"Are you really okay with this?"

Harry smiled reassuringly. "I'm fine with it."

"You think I should?"

"I really do."

Hermione paused, embarrassed. "Can you… help me?"

"I'll do whatever I can."

"All right. Your first assignment is to keep him busy until tomorrow night at seven."

He nodded. "Sounds good. What are you going to do?"

"Plan my attack."

Hermione spent the rest of that night in the bathroom. She took a shower and washed her hair with a new straightening shampoo and used a softening conditioner. While she conditioned it, she brushed her hair with a new paddle brush. She got out of the shower smelling like lavender and dried her hair first with a towel, and then the rest of the way with her blow-dryer. Once she had finished with her hair, she looked in the mirror. She and her reflection both gasped at the same time.

"You look incredible! That shine alone will knock him out!"

Hermione grinned wickedly. "The best is yet to come."

Next, Hermione tried on the LBD again, this time with the stilettos. She turned around in front of the mirror, and her reflection gave it two thumbs up. She twirled around, letting the soft, stretchy material tickle her freshly shaven legs. She took off the dress and shoes and pulled a chair up in front of the nightstand, emptying her bag of makeup on top of it.

"What do I do with all of this?"

"Don't do that tonight, dear. Leave that for tomorrow. It's already midnight; you'll have circles under your eyes if you don't get some sleep!"

Much as Hermione hated to admit it, the mirror was right. ("Great, now inanimate objects are more intelligent that I am.") She took off her robe and crawled into bed, snuggling her cheek close against the pillow, imagining that it was the one and only Sirius Black.

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For the first time in many days, Hermione woke up after seven o'clock. In fact, it was nine thirty when she finally opened her eyes and stretched. She nearly had a panic attack when she realized what time it was.

"Oh Merlin! I'm not going to have enough time to get ready for my date! This is a disaster!"

"Calm down, you have nine and a half hours before you need to make him regret that he didn't make a move sooner," her mirror called after her as she dashed into the bathroom for yet another shower.

Hermione scrubbed her hair with the new shampoo and conditioner again, and used more of the lavender soap to wash all of her body. She jumped out of the shower, dried her hair and brushed it a hundred strokes, and pulled on some jeans and an old shirt. She pulled her hair onto the top of her head and put on a bucket hat, just in case Sirius was in the kitchen when she went down to grab a bite to eat.

Hermione tiptoed down the stairs and around to the hallway that led to the kitchen. Like a lion springing on its prey, Harry leapt into the air from the doorway and tackled Hermione into the bathroom, landing hard on the floor. He slapped a hand over her mouth before she could scream.

"Something wrong, Harry?" Sirius called from the kitchen.

"I thought I saw a…giraffe." Hermione stared incredulously at Harry, glad he was keeping her from making any sound.

"A what?"

"Giraffe. My mistake." Harry pressed a cup of yogurt, a plastic bag of grapes, and a bottle of apple juice into Hermione's arms and pushed her toward the stairs, and then walked calmly back into the kitchen. Upstairs in her room, Hermione began giggling.

"A giraffe? Honestly."

She ate her food quickly. Ten o'clock. Nine hours until game time.

At five thirty, Hermione began preparing herself for the date. She sat down in front of the mirror once again, and looked to it for guidance.

"Moisturizer first. Rub it all over your face and neck. Good. Now, take the foundation, no, shake it up first, that's right. Put your finger over the opening and tilt it upside down so that the tip of your finger has some foundation on it. Start from the nose, and work your way outwards. Pat, don't rub. Next your chin, and then your forehead. Excellent. It looks perfect."

Hermione peered at her reflection. "Are you sure? It looks a bit uneven."

"I'm positive. Now, use a bit on your eyelids. Don't use a lot, just enough to cover it completely. Open up your eye shadow, and use the dark color on your eyelid, but don't apply it too far up. See? There. Use the darkest color on the crease, and the lightest shade over the brow bone."

Hermione sat back. "Does that look okay?"

"It looks beautiful. I'm sure you know how to use the lipstick, and don't use too much gloss on top or you'll look like you've been drooling. It's just for a bit of…glossiness. And the blush is next. Of course you can do that."

"Yes, my mum taught me a few years back." Hermione applied her blush and sat back in her chair. "Is that all?"

"No, you can't forget your mascara. Good. Now, let's have a look at you."

Hermione stood up from her chair and leaned in closer. "I don't look like a clown, do I?"

"No, the shades give you the perfect smoky eye. It looks terrific. Well done!"

Hermione raced over to where her LBD was hanging. She stared at it for a moment before picking it up, then held it to her body in front of the mirror.

"Well, this is it. The end of innocence."

"I thought that ended after fifth year."

"It did. But, I mean, look at this! It's the sexiest thing I've ever seen, let alone worn!"

Hermione nervously slipped on the dress and shoes before she could have any second thoughts. She stood with her back to the mirror.

"Does it look okay?"

"The back looks nice. Great low cut. They can't resist the small of a woman's back. Mind if I see the front as well?"

"Oh, sorry." Hermione turned around.

"It looks absolutely magnificent! He'll never know what hit him."

"You think so?"

"I know so."

"Well, I wasn't exactly planning to bed him on the very first night…"

"Liar."

At six forty-five, Harry knocked on Hermione's door. "It's me," he called.

Hermione opened the door for him and quickly shut it behind. "Well?"

Harry's jaw dropped open. "Oh my God! Your hair! Your makeup! Your body!"

"Well, the body should be no surprise to you, but the hair and makeup…let's just say I spent several grueling hours trying to look perfect."

"Success!" Harry growled appreciatively. "You know, I just might become jealous if you keep looking this good…"

"Harry!"

"You know I'm joking. Anyway, Sirius said that he was cooking dinner."

"Should I get the fire extinguisher?"

"Already got it. It's sitting on the counter."

"Good. How's he dressed? Not casual, I hope?"

"No, he's dressed up."

"All right. I didn't want to arrive in this and have him be sitting there in jeans."

"You honestly think I'd let him wear jeans on a date?"

"Yes."

"Such little faith," he teased. "I think it's time. Knock him dead!"

Hermione walked carefully down the stairs. Breaking an ankle would definitely screw up her plans for tonight. Once she got to the bottom, Sirius appeared in front of her, arm out to take hers.

"Hello, Hermi-oh my God!"

"Something wrong?" Hermione asked, feigning innocence.

"No, you just look…beautiful," he said in awe.

Hermione blushed and smiled. "Thanks."

"Here, let me take you to the dining room."

Hermione took Sirius' arm and let him open the door for her. The table was set flawlessly, and the plates were already filled with delicious food. On each plate were a juicy filet, a baked potato (unexploded), and asparagus.

"This looks great!"

"I hope you like everything."

"Oh, I know I will," Hermione murmured, the implications going far beyond a meal.

Sirius pulled the chair out for her and seated her, then took his own seat. They began their meal and had a pleasant conversation, with all unacceptable topics left out. Once they had finished, Sirius turned on a CD and offered his hand to Hermione.

"May I have this dance?"

Hermione flushed, the dim candlelight hiding her apprehension. "Certainly."

Hermione took Sirius' hand and followed him to a cleared part of the room. It was a slow song, and Hermione was secretly pleased at how well she had taught him to dance. She unconsciously rested her head against his chest, and Sirius held her closer.

They swayed together in perfect harmony for what seemed like hours. The song ended, and Hermione looked up.

"This has been an incredible night. Everything was perfect! You're going to make some lady very lucky."

Sirius grinned. "Thanks. But there's one more dance I'd like to try."

"Which one?"

Hermione's question was answered by the lively notes of the Viennese waltz. Sirius gazed into her eyes.

"This was our first dance."

"It was."

They silently began dancing, their hands and eyes locked. The steps became more and more natural, and Hermione once again felt herself becoming limp in Sirius' arms.

"Did I tell you already how gorgeous you look tonight?"

"Yes," Hermione replied breathlessly.

Sirius leaned closer. "Well, I'm telling you again right now." The space between them was closed as their lips connected. They stopped moving with the song as the kiss became heated. Sirius' hands were roaming all over Hermione's body, their breath coming in short bursts, and her hands were kneading his back. In unspoken agreement, they stumbled upstairs. The last notes of the Viennese waltz could be heard as the door to Sirius' bedroom clicked shut.

A/N: Hello again my lovely readers! Revised this story as well as _Botched Potion_ for readability. It should flow a bit better now. Onward to the next chapter!


	2. Epilogue

_**Teaching Mr. Black**_

_By Ange de Socrates_

**Disclaimer: J.K. owns it all. Except the plot, of course.**

Epilogue

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"Sirius! I have to leave in a few minutes!"

"All right, I'll be right down!"

"Hurry up! The train will leave without me!"

Sirius took the steps two at a time and wrapped his arms around Hermione. "I'm going to miss you so much, love."

Hermione smiled in his embrace. "And I'm going to miss you, too." She pulled apart. "Now, promise me you'll write me."

"Every day. And you'd better reply!"

"No worries about that."

They kissed each other one last time, and Harry groaned. "Too much affection, thank you. It's not like I want to see you kissing my godfather."

Hermione blushed, and Sirius grinned. "All right, you two had best be off. I'll be waiting at Christmas."

"Bye love!"

"Bye, Sirius."

Hermione and Harry walked to the fireplace and threw in some Floo powder. "The Leaky Cauldron!" Harry shouted, holding onto Hermione and making sure to annunciate. Sirius waved goodbye as they disappeared in the flames.

Once they arrived at the pub, they waved to Tom and stepped outside, where a Ministry car was waiting to take them to the train station. Harry held the door open for Hermione and climbed in after her.

"How can you stand him?" Harry asked Hermione with a grunt of disgust.

Hermione giggled. "Harry, he's a perfect gentleman! We taught him, remember?"

"Yeah, but still…" Harry shuddered. "I can't believe you're seeing my godfather! It's so…weird."

"Get over it. You've seen everything he has. It's not like you have to imagine anything."

"I'll have to imagine _him_!"

Hermione glared at him. "You shouldn't be imagining anything, pervert. Try to relax for the trip. This year is going to be tough. It's our last year of relative freedom, and then we're out into the real world."

"Don't remind me. I can't bear the thought of leaving Hogwarts." Harry looked out the window dreamily. "I remember our first year…" He snapped back to reality. "Say, Hermione, are you going to marry him?"

"Harry!"

"I'm just wondering!"

"Why would you ask?"

"Because, if you marry him, in a strange, very distant sort of way, we'll be kind of related, and if you think about all the things _we_ did together…" Harry was silenced by a swift elbow jab in the bicep. "Merlin, sorry, I was just wondering…"

Hermione grinned as she stared out the window. Little did he know that Sirius had already proposed…

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A/N: Not too hard to edit! I'm feeling rather inspired, so I think a sequel will be in order…

Much love to my faithful readers! Stay tuned!


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